


Death Invades Camelot

by yourrockyspine



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 01:35:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16170914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourrockyspine/pseuds/yourrockyspine
Summary: Camelot's Police Dept. is facing a multitude of problems:A) A series of brutal murders in a small town.B) An exhausted DCI connecting said murders, much to the derision of his fellow officers.C) A homeless, petty criminal hoping to share his observations (and possibly land himself the DCI in question).D) The DCI's half-sister, who senses someone is following her.





	1. Chapter 1

**The killer's hands were fast and steady.**

**The woman's eyes pleaded for mercy, which only emboldened her murderer-to-be.**

**As his grip tightened around her throat, he relished in the sound of regret, his subject reduced to a desperate, sobbing mess.**

**_That's right, you slobbering sack of shit. You go ahead and weep for your terrible life decisions. There's no one gearing up to help you now._ **

***

DCI Arthur Pendragon dropped his head onto his desk.

Four victims so far and not a single shred of evidence left at the crime scenes. He may not have been at this job for long, but he knew when he was on to something. Every perpetrator he'd caught thus far had managed to leave a signature of sorts. Not this one. That proved to be Arthur's downfall, at least where his colleagues where concerned. 

Their guy had been thorough enough that every other detective in the goddamned building now looked at Arthur with pity and derision. Their looks conveyed the words they didn't speak: "Cor blimey, look at the delusional fellow so obsessed with proving himself he's willing to sacrifice the career his daddy scored him by pinning four completely unrelated homicides on just the one boogeyman."

They not only mocked his decision to connect the cases, they'd begun downright treating him like they would an unhinged lunatic wearing his pants for trousers and a shower curtain for a cape, declaring himself the hero to save this town.

He'd dealt with plenty of said lunatics in his three years on the force.

Unlike what these other plonkers seemed to believe, he didn't actually get into this line of work to please his father. No point sucking up to a dead guy, for starters. Had former chief superintendent Uther Pendragon been around to hear these ludicrous accusations, he would've been the first to say that his son never bothered to take a single order from him. Their relationship had been hanging on by a thread as it was, and if anything motivated Arthur to be a detective, it was to do better than his father had.

Uther Pendragon had been a look-away-and-take-the-bribe kind of man. Arthur wouldn't rest until every blackmailer, ganglord and corrupt officer was stuck behind bars and kept the fuck away from honest men just trying to do their duty.

That may have just been the problem. Arthur had 'whistleblower' written all over him, and though he, superintendent Leon Knight and current chief superintendent Gaius Rosemare had stuck their heads together many a night to weed out Uther's chosen lackeys, many a man on the force still respected his father a hell of a lot and believed Arthur was heaping shame onto the man's memory by putting honesty and empathy first.

In short, they thought him a "liberal bleeding heart ponce" (as Arthur recalled, a direct quote from one of his so-called team). Sadly for them, Arthur was perfectly willing to wear that badge with pride if it meant getting away from the Dark Ages his father had tried to return to Camelot: criminally small cells, bribes and the occasional beatdown of a suspect who wasn't talking enough.

Arthur trusted his instincts more than anything, and there was no bloody way these four homicides had not been committed by the same person, signatures be damned.

He had two distinctive reasons to feel this way: A) a string of homicides in a sleepy town rarely pointed to more than one perpetrator, and B) all four of these victims were female, well-to-do, and didn't have a particularly solid network of friends to get in touch with. Or, for that matter, to serve as credible character witnesses.

It made sense for rich women to be targeted, but never in the span of a single year, let alone ones who were either single or widowed and didn't get out much. No, this was one man who had very clearly been doing his homework.

As far as Arthur was concerned, someone out there was targeting lonely rich ladies of varying ages, plain and simple once you bothered to look at the files, and hardly anyone at the station was inclined to agree with him. All because these killings lacked a signature of sorts. It was enough to drive a rational man completely insane.

Arthur wanted to scream. For once in his life he wished nepotism would just be enough.

Christ's sake, he was the sole heir to the station's former chief superintendent. His hunches should bloody well mean something to these rubes.

If it hadn't been for the support of his superintendents, Arthur's brain would've dribbled out of both ears by now and he'd be chewing his fancy pens for lack of anything else to do.

Arthur's head was beginning to get very intimate with his desk when a sudden noise alerted him to a visitor.

He couldn't muster the strength to look up. From this moment on, call him Desk Man; half-man, half-desk, 100% destroyed and useless to society.

He should've figured it would take a lot more than one man's intimate connection to his desk to persuade _Merlin_ to leave. Of all bloody people, he thought, and promptly wanted to cry.

"Arthur. Buddy? Good ole mate? Light of my life?"

Merlin was poking at him in ways that would've definitely annoyed him if his body wasn't currently doing its best to merge with his desk and escape polite society once and for all.

"Return to the land of the living, you beautiful soul. Where would we be without your obnoxious pout telling us just how inferior we are to your blessed presence?"

The hand poking at him became entirely too insistent and Arthur looked up mid-growl.

The pale, skinny face grinning down at him didn't seem to give a flying fuck. As was tradition.

"There it is, the haughty face of our Lord Protector. I was afraid we'd lost your smashing frowns of indignation to a set of shoddy IKEA office gear and that, my wonderful pal, just _would not do_."

***

Arthur and Merlin had met the usual way. Boy meets boy, boy attempts to break into a coffee shop, other boy who happens to be a constable puts him under arrest.

Merlin wasn't precisely your average criminal. For one, he was downright stupid about getting caught. If anyone asked Merlin, he would argue until he was blue in the face that once he'd caught sight of Constable Pendragon working the streets, he was done for.

Arthur had once taken the Herculean effort to sit down across from his pain in the arse criminal frequent flyer to ask Merlin why he seemed determined to fail with every single poorly-executed step he took. 

Instead of taking the admonishment like he bloody well should've, Merlin had only looked into Arthur's eyes with that trademark impish grin on his face, eyes irritatingly blue and earnest and cheekbones popping off all over the place, and told him, "I do it just to chance another look at that pretty, arrogant face of yours, Constable."

Over the years, Merlin had become something of a beloved fixture at the station, an unofficial mascot of sorts. The old ladies manning the desks adored him, and even Arthur's ruddy overlords, Superintendent Leon Knight and Chief Superintendent Gaius Rosemare, the man he answered to in times of crisis, simply threw back their heads and cackled whenever Arthur reported that Merlin was in custody. _Again_.

If truth be told, Arthur had a hard enough time loathing Merlin himself. The young man had been homeless for almost a decade, despite community efforts to get him into a group home ("They're Evangelical brainwashers, Arthur. They think I smile too much and want to drain the gay out of me until I'm fit to marry one of their dead-eyed daughters, and then where would that leave us, Arthur? Come on now, think this through. For the sake of our wedding.")

Arthur had to admit the people at the group home had an altogether far too Tom Cruise-y vibe about them and he wouldn't want Merlin to wither away in their presence. If asked, though, he'd say that he'd never wish Merlin on anyone, not even the solid God-fearing folk at the home.

A hidden, less professional part of him was also willing to acknowledge that it felt good to be occasionally targeted by the flirtations of a very beautiful young man with a heart of gold. But only under threat of severe torture.

Merlin was a bit of an unsung hero, in his own right. He'd been wandering the streets for years, and he was known to get into trouble when the opportunity presented itself. Merlin carried all the signs of a child who'd been bullied in childhood: a tendency to get caught in the middle of fights he hadn't started, as well as the stubborn refusal to let things go when a much larger person threatened someone half his size. Even if they were usually also twice Merlin's size.

Between the half-arsed break-ins and the unsolicited fights, the Camelot Police Dept. had acquired themselves a handful with Merlin. And sod it all, no one in the damned building could stay mad at him long enough to lock him up for life and throw away the key, which the soft-hearted idiot could bloody well benefit from if anyone ever bothered to ask Arthur.

***

"So what's lodged itself up your bum this time? I know it's not me, more's the pity, but I can guess. Don't tell me: your boss didn't hand you a gold star today."

Arthur's face had officially become unglued from his desk, his temporarily inanimate soulmate, but he'd be goddamned if he bothered to thank Merlin for it. 

"For the love of- Why? Why. Are. You. Here? We didn't arrest you again, did we? Because I'm pretty sure I'd know it if we had, because I would've been right here dancing my life away to Donna Summer's finest and I wouldn't be feeling like microwaved shit."

"I should've known you were a Donna Summer man. That's just wonderful, Arthur. There's so much we just don't know about each other, don't you think?"

Arthur groaned as his forehead once more became intimately acquainted with the desk in front of him, and Merlin didn't seem to give one iota of a toss about the fact that he'd broken an adult Detective Chief Inspector with the power of words.

"Not the best time, I get it. Be seeing you again soon, Pendragon."

***

**The killer whistled as his hand drifted across his special collection.**

**Such beautiful pendants, and these vapid wenches had no idea of their true worth.**

**His gaze zeroed in on a picture of his final victim. Black tresses, pale skin, bright green eyes and a strong jaw. She was a picture of beauty and class. He would enjoy seeing the life drain out of her.**

***

When Arthur got back to his flat and saw the discarded pair of Louboutins sprawled across the mat, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his breathing got that tiny bit more laboured.

_The witch has arrived._

"Morgana, you absolute dick, thought I told you to stay the fuck out."

His half-sister just cackled from somewhere in the vicinity of the living room. _Good_ , Arthur thought, _At least I know where she is._ He liked to have his eye on the enemy at all time.

Morgana had made herself comfortable on his couch, and worst of all, his dog had made himself comfortable on Morgana. Certain betrayals were impossible to come back from.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Arthur blanched. "Well, Morgana, it just so happens that this is _my fucking flat_."

Morgana simply waved him off like an obnoxious wasp at a picnic. "Very well. It's unlike you to come home so early. And I would know. I've been here _so many times_ , Arthur, without your knowing, you wouldn't believe."

"I believe it, you pest. Why are you here?"

Heaving a put-upon sigh as if she hadn't just broken into Arthur's bloody place, Morgana got up from the couch and looked her brother straight in the eye.

Well, this was new. Usually when Morgana was feeling too proud to acknowledge her life-ruining ways, she avoided eye contact at all costs.

"Arthur. I think I'm being followed."

***

Getting the truth out of his stubborn half-sister was often a pain in the arse. He'd known that back when they were 10 and she had helped herself to his secret supply of Cadbury bars (it had taken him 25 decapitated Barbie dolls to get there, before he'd finally reached her favourite, and the heartless wench was suddenly heartless no more). Morgana didn't like to impart her special brand of wisdom without being extremely cryptic in the process.

So when Morgana's bright green eyes shone with unshed tears, and her hesistant voice confirmed that somebody was after her, Arthur had no choice but to believe that his little shit sister had landed herself in a real pile of it.

"I don't know what to tell you, Arthur. I can _feel_ him. And I know this must sound like a double helping of bollocks to you, Christ, it does to me, but I honestly feel-"

Arthur threw up a hand in order to silence Morgana. She may have been a dramatic caricature of a human being most of the time, but he wouldn't be a detective if he couldn't tell the difference between melodrama and genuine fear; not even if the case at hand concerned his extremely cynical and paranoid half-sister.

"I believe you."

The defensive slump left Morgana's shoulders and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Arthur. You don't know what this means to me. I've had plenty of moments when I felt like someone was keeping an eye on me, but never one so strong as this. I think I got a glimpse of him, just once."

Morgana seemed dubious as to continue her story, and Arthur mentally reprimanded himself for making fun of her intuitions so much when they were kids. He gently gestured for her to continue.

"Go on."

"Very well. I think he's somewhere between the ages of 40 and 50. He's broad of frame, some of which seems to be muscle and some of it looks to be a sign of age. I couldn't tell you if he's strong or if his muscles have gone to seed with age; both options seemed equally likely from my brief glance. There's something familiar about him, even though I'm pretty sure we never previously met. He has shoulder-length dark hair, couldn't tell you if it was brown or black. His skin was definitely white."

Morgana took a moment to collect herself, and Arthur saved the details in his mind.

"The clincher here, Arthur," she said, eyes watery but determined, and focused on Arthur's, "was the way his eyes zoned in on my pendant whenever he thought I wasn't watching."

Morgana held up the necklace she'd worn religiously since she was 15 years old. They appeared to be ancient runes intertwined, and they'd been gifted to her by her mother, who at the time was rumoured to be obsessed with witchcraft.

"Please, Arthur. Please find the person trying to take away my dearest possession that's not, well... You."

Maybe the majority of his coworkers had got him right: maybe he was nothing but a walking, talking bleeding heart. Because at that moment, he couldn't have argued with Morgana if he'd wanted to.

***

Another relatively uneventful day ended in Merlin being taken into custody by some sad, put-upon constable, and Arthur being notified of the mess.

This time, the young man had managed to spend three consecutive nights inside the air vents of a record shop before being discovered by its angry owner and shooed out with a broomstick, though not before the man had called in the local forces.

The bedraggled-looking constable had set aside a couple of hours to dissuade the angry man from pressing charges against a person who, for all intents and purposes, had nothing. And broken nothing.

Seemed that Merlin's charm had roped in another poor, unsuspecting person.

After a long day of arguing about his hunches re: the arsehole who definitely killed all four of those women, Arthur hid out in his office where he snuck himself a couple of sips from a carefully hidden bottle of scotch. He was turning into a cliché, but it was _their_ fault for being so unforgivably _bloody thick_. And then he got the news.

Alice from the downstairs lobby sounded entirely too gleeful, and Arthur knew where this conversation was headed before she'd finished saying "DCI Pendragon, some news..." He was pretty sure she was the dastardly force constantly sneaking Merlin candy bars from the vending machine when no one was looking. Someone ought to look into replacing her.

But, for lack of anything better to do, Arthur went to see Merlin.

Merlin was confined to the drunk tank, which may as well be his second home at this point, despite never drinking a sip, and launched to his feet when he recognised Arthur heading toward him.

His face was a picture of joy and relief, as well as confusion as to why he'd ended up here once more.

Arthur should've known better, really: from his own experience, Merlins were gonna Merlin.

"Wonderful to see you again, DCI, as well as your pout. And right before bedtime, too. Seems my nights are going to be delightful."

Arthur usually tried to snap back, he really did, but tonight he was exhausted and Merlin's cheeky grin was like a balm to his increasingly shattered soul.

" _Mer_ lin, Merlin... You're an idiot. Nevertheless, mind if I run something by you?"

***

It seemed that the chance to prove himself useful had awakened something in Merlin.

Instead of looking at Arthur with that flirty, mock-innocent glint in his eyes, the young man straightened his posture and a sense of professional interest settled over his features.

"What would you like to know?"

Arthur could've punched himself for not doing this sooner. Merlin was basically one with the streets; he'd probably witnessed so many inexplicable acts and people over the years, he must be a wealth of knowledge at this point. This man in front of him was a wet dream of potential leads and sources.

"You wouldn't have happened to notice any men who seemed oddly fixated on rich women, would you?"

He knew it was a stupid question once he'd asked it, and he was doubly convinced when Merlin snorted.

"Well, gee, inspector. I think most of my closest friends would notice a well-to-do woman if they believed she could benefit them."

That reminded Arthur of the one thing he had to give Merlin: the young man had never resorted to stealing. Not even when he was starving and desperate to live to see another day. This cheeky, bizarre excuse for a human being in front of him always snuck into people's places of work and left whatever pitiful amount of money he'd saved to the folk whose food and beverages he'd been helping himself to at the time.

Surely, not all of Merlin's acquaintances were willing to be quite as noble, and Arthur met Merlin's eyes in a desperate plea to find out who may have been willing to kill for their next big hit.

"How bad are we talking here, Arthur?"

"Murder."

Merlin blanched so suddenly and intensely, it took Arthur by surprise.

"So you _do_ know someone."

Merlin's big blue eyes gazed into Arthur's own, and after a few seconds of silence, he shook his head in resignation.

"I know plenty of people who have committed some pretty immoral acts, Arthur. I wouldn't expect you to understand, but they can barely survive the streets as is. That said," and here Merlin shot Arthur a look of such admonishment that Arthur felt his stomach tighten. 

"My mates, they would never take a life in order to get what they need. Petty crime, certainly. Vandalism, for sure. Occasionally fantasising about a kidnapping without any plans of following through? It happens. Murder? Those aren't my people."

And try as he might to resist: Arthur believed him.

***

Though Merlin wasn't personally in touch with any potential murderers, he'd referred Arthur to a man who may very well offer a different perspective.

Gwaine Greene was a bartender down at the Rising Sun, a seedy dive where thieves conspired and johns met up with prostitutes. The man himself had spent four years homeless and starving, occasionally doing time for the odd bar fight, right up until a kindly bar owner wishing to retire set eyes on him, saw the hypersocial and flirtatious demeanour as untapped potential, and entrusted Gwaine with his old job.

Merlin had also mentioned that this Gwaine was an ex-boyfriend of sorts, but the less Arthur considered that tidbit, the better.

Arthur made his way through the crowd, wearing his casual clothes and determinedly ignoring the multiple violations being committed right under his nose. Tonight was about one thing only: finding out if Gwaine Greene had any useful leads.

A lone soul was manning the bar, and within these hideously graffiti'd walls, his face was a sight for sore eyes. The shoulder-length hair was fit for conditioner ads, and the symmetrical, finely-boned face was a work of art. He was White Jesus, scrubbing down a bacteria-infested bar with all his might.

"Gwaine Greene?"

The man, who up until this moment had been meticulously cleaning, looked up from his ministrations, eyes alert and just a bit suspicious.

"Who wants to know?"

Arthur realised his efforts to look like a Man of the People hadn't gone down smoothly at all: within these walls of sin and depravity, he still looked every bit the preacher's son. Still, he figured, better that than a police officer's son.

He chanced an ironic grin at the scowling man facing him.

"I won't try to bullshit you," he figured Gwaine would accept no such attempt. "But I'm with the Camelot Police Force and I'll tell you, mate... I'm fucking desperate. Not to mention I'd love a vodka shot if you're at all willing to help out a desperate man, law enforcement ties or no."

Luckily his instincts saved him once again, and his straight-shooting had lowered Gwaine's defences some, and - bless the man - he slid Arthur two shots, telling him they were 'on the house, for Camelot's finest'.

"Merlin sent me."

Gwaine's previously handsome (and _stupidly, unfairly symmetrical_ ) face lit up in a grin and his posture loosened almost instantaneously.

"I'd never decline one of Merlin's referrals. He saved my life, y'know?"

The bartender's eyes went soft in a way Arthur did not remotely care for, and he motioned for him to bloody well get on with it already.

Instead of looking reprimanded and sheepish like he bloody should've, Arthur's air of authority and intimidation was once again thwarted. Gwaine just shook his head, shiny locks moving about his face in slo-mo, before pinning Arthur with a look of pity and caution.

"He told me about you, y'know," slurred Gwaine, and just then Arthur realised the experienced bartender had been indulging in his own merchandise. " _Ooh, this beautiful man of the law. So righteous. So pure. Everytime he nails me for a crime, I wish he'd nail me right and proper._ "

Arthur fought to keep the blush off his face and did what he did best when faced with his crushingly lonely existence of sexual frustration: he grabbed Gwaine by the collar and pressed their foreheads together in a battle of wits.

"You listen to me now and you listen right and fucking proper: Merlin told me you may very well have some good intel regarding a serial killer. Now, you may be a narcissistic piece of garbage who cares more about hair maintenance than sending a psychotic piece of shit to prison, but Merlin apparently has faith in you, which means that - God have mercy - I have faith in you, for the time being. Do not let me down."

Gwaine's eyes met Arthur's and for a moment, both men were as serious as could possibly be.

Then Gwaine's face scrunched up with laughter and Arthur finally understood that down here, he was considered about as threatening as a particularly vicious pomeranian pup.

***

A couple of guests were looking in Gwaine and Arthur's direction, trying to decide if they were going to have to crush the man currently trying to shake the life out of their sole supplier of boozy treats.

Gwaine, collar still firmly within Arthur's grasp, held up both hands and shot his burly customers an apologetic grin. "Just a spot of trouble with the loan sharks," he yelled, "You lot keep to yourselves."

Arthur's eyes narrowed as they looked into Gwaine's, who appeared to be enjoying this far too much.

Gwaine relented. "Very well, DCI. How about you and I continue our talk in my office?" He motioned for an enormous construction of a human being to take his place at the bar. "Percival, a bit of help here?"

Following Gwaine through a narrow doorway situated directly behind the bar, Arthur wound up inside a cluttered office of sorts.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Gwaine grinned sheepishly before motioning for Arthur to sit across from him at what could barely be considered a desk. "Ain't much to write home about, but I'm usually not under interrogation, whatever you may think."

He helped himself to a special, less watered-down bottle of gin and automatically handed Arthur another glass.

"Good of you to join us," - spoken like Arthur had had a choice in the matter - "You tell me you're here on Merlin's behalf. That's a good sign, mate, probably why you're still alive and well in front of me, so how about you give me a little more to go on?"

Gwaine's face was warm and personable, but the man's posture convinced Arthur that one step in the wrong direction would grant him the beating of a lifetime.

"He told me the two of you used to be... _close_ ," Arthur prided his lack of flinching in this moment. "And that if anyone knew of any obsessive, lone white males age 40-50 chasing after unsuspecting rich ladies, it would probably be you."

Gwaine took Arthur in for a minute and pensively stroked his beard.

"I'm not too sure about that, but I have entertained the odd gent who seemed particularly fascinated with the local ladies and their whereabouts. I couldn't tell you if they were feeling very murderous at the time, but I tend to keep track on anyone whose fixations seem to focus on one person in particular. Let me tell you about the bloke we had in just the other day..."

***

That night, for the first time in months, Arthur crawled into bed with a feeling of true satisfaction and faith in his job performance: Gwaine had put him on a brand new trail and he felt the distance between himself and his target lessen just that tiny bit.

***

The first thing Arthur did the next day went against his every Good Cop instinct: he called Morgana.

He'd toiled away half a day at the office, hoping to track down Leon or Gaius, but Gaius was in meetings all day and Leon was being run down by requests. Arthur didn't know who else on the force had his back on this one, so back to the drawing board it was.

He took an early day and rang Morgana on the tube, demanding her presence at this flat.

He should've known that the minute he let himself into his home, he'd be greeted by the sound of Enya and the smell of curry.

"Don't tell me you've been cooking, because it's far easier for you to just put a knife to my throat and be done with it."

Morgana's stubborn arse had once more planted itself on his sofa. Seated right next to her was that common traitor, Atticus, Arthur's blatantly disloyal Irish Wolfhound. 

"If I ever deign to cook for some lowly male, little bruv, it won't be you."

Arranged across the table was a truly delicious selection of meals from his favourite Indian place, and Arthur forgave his harpy sister almost instantly (Atticus, however, was going to have to grovel these next couple of days).

"Don't say 'bruv', you went to boarding school. Leave me any cheese pakoras, then?"

"Ordered a double portion to make sure and everything."

"Because you knew the sight of my dog loving you more than me would hurt me in ways I didn't think possible?"

"Exactly that, my beloved sibling," and really, the way she stroked Atticus's muzzle was entirely too smug and familiar.

"Blasted beast was a trained guard dog, figures he would fall in love with my closest nemesis."

Arthur helped himself to some cheese pakoras and onion bhaji and for a moment both these blessed dishes shielded him from the situation at hand. Eventually, he knew he had to face the music.

Morgana was apparently willing to dive in first. "So what did you want to talk to me about? Is it the man, the one I think is following me?"

"I talked to a bartender the other night," Arthur spoke around his mouthful of delicious food. "His description of a man hunting antisocial rich ladies matched yours completely."

"I am _not_ antisocial, Arthur. I'm... particular."

Arthur struggled not to snort bits of palak paneer up his nose. "Morgana... You couldn't be more anti-people if you had a force field around you."

Morgana hugged Atticus to her chest in a way that clearly said 'I will take from you everything you love', before settling back against the cushions. Her smugness had made way for petulance.

"Come to your sodding place, don't I."

"Yeah, well, I'm only your sole living relative and all that. It wasn't an admonishment, 'Gana," and perhaps he was playing dirty by using his childhood nickname on her, but there were more important matters at hand right now and he needed his sister to pay attention. 

"I just mean you're independent. You hate company, and prefer to dance to the beat of your own drum. And that's why I admire you, though should you tell anyone else, I never said that. But in this particular case, it might make you a target."

***

**The killer was not used to sitting idle. Not when he was so close to his final goal.**

**The bitch's brother was a detective with the CPD. Of fucking course he was, just like Daddy had been before him. He'd saved this one for last because he knew the kind of obstacles he'd be facing.**

**No matter, just a couple extra weeks of flying under the radar and getting the bitch alone.**

**And if things didn't work out that way, well, he'd just have to add 'cop killer' to his resume.**

***

Arthur was stuck in his office filling out paperwork on a couple of cases he'd mentally labeled WhoTheFuckCares.doc because anything unrelated to the serial killer running rampant in their sleepy town was a waste of resources as far as he was concerned.

Nevertheless, he was a decidated professional and refused to speak to anyone who didn't bring urgent news.

When superintendent Leon Knight appeared in his doorway, Arthur's pulse skyrocketed. "You have something for me."

Leon's grimace was the ultimate letdown. "I'm not telling you I don't, Wart," and buggering _fuck_ did Arthur wish for a cooler nickname, not for the first time. "I'm just also not telling you I do. These two showed up at the station demanding to speak to the highest of available authorities."

Only then did Arthur get a look at the two bedraggled-looking youths behind Leon. One of them was Merlin, the other girl he could only guess.

"I happened to be the highest level of authority available, but then this one," here Leon's head nodded towards Merlin, not without some amusement in his voice. "Told me 'you're not Arthur', which made me realise they may have been looking for you. And that you may have oversold your importance to these poor, unsuspecting civilians."

Arthur cared nothing for the laughter creeping into Leon's tone and motioned for his superior to get the fuck out or face certain death. Leon, bless his soul, was the sort to take this disrespect in stride and just wander off, alight with glee.

Leon's departure just left the two delinquents hovering in his doorway, and Arthur sighed as heavily as he could without passing out at his desk before motioning the two of them in.

***

The young woman's name was Freya, or so Merlin informed him as the two rain-drenched forms settled themselves across from Arthur.

"Freya's got some information that could be helpful. But I did promise her she wouldn't get in trouble."

Arthur groaned. "You can't make those kinds of promises, _Mer_ lin."

Although he was technically right, he'd only meant to push Merlin's buttons a little (that boy needed authority in his life). But then the shivering young woman shot up from her seat, big brown eyes overcome with terror, and Arthur felt like the tallest prick on Prick Mountain.

"I should never have agreed to this. I'm sorry, Merlin." The girl was utterly drenched and she didn't exactly have a lot of weight to keep her warm.

Arthur did what he felt was the right thing to do, and held up a hand. "I'm sorry, Freya, I didn't mean to scare you. It's just Merlin here has this irrepressible urge to act like he's in charge here, and he needs to be set straight on occasion." 

He offered the shaken young woman a warm smile. "However you think you can help with this investigation, I welcome it. Don't worry for now about incriminating anyone. I won't lie, it may turn out to be important in the future, but you can rest assured that I care more about tips than petty arrests in this particular case."

Freya weighed the sincerity of his response for a moment before sitting back down and flashing him a watery smile. "He sure doesn't respect personal boundaries, does he?" And despite her mocking tone, her hand clutched Merlin's like a lifeline.

Arthur nodded in encouragement, while Merlin in the background gaped as if the whole world had turned against him ( _see how the obstinate little bastard likes it_ , Arthur figured). "He truly doesn't, but if you have anything to tell me about the man we've been looking for, I'm willing to overlook everything else."

Freya's teeth worried at her lower lip. She looked up at Arthur in sheer desperation. "Even if it could implicate someone who is good and decent? Even if that person's actions don't always reflect, uh... his... goodness and decency?"

"Even then," Arthur said and found that he meant it. He was willing to drop many a shady character in order to get to the suspect at hand.

Again, Freya's warm brown eyes seemed to size him up, but eventually it appeared she'd come to a conclusion. "Alright, then. Alright. I'll tell you what I think I know."

Freya appeared deeply troubled by her experience, and needed a few minutes to breathe and collect her thoughts. When Merlin noticed that Arthur was willing to grant her those, the warmth of his smile spread through Arthur's very bones.

"Alright," said Freya, and gone was the frightened, shivering kid: in her stead was a determined young woman.

"I have a boyfriend. We're both homeless, that's how we bonded, and he's lovely - just, just utterly lovely. But he's got bipolar disorder, and he has these impulses, you know?"

Freya's eyes were so pleading, Arthur just nodded for her to go on with her story.

"He doesn't have money for treatment, so he's been getting by unmedicated for the past two years. And usually he's great- actually, he's always great, but he just gets these ridiculous ideas sometimes, yeah? And then suddenly he doesn't get why it's a bad idea to steal from a convenience store when the owner isn't looking, or why maybe I don't want an expensive gift if it means he snatched it right from under a jeweler's nose, you know?"

Something began to dawn on Arthur. "Your boyfriend... wouldn't go by 'Will', would he?"

Freya's eyes widened and her stance got shakier as well as more defensive.

"Merlin... I think we shouldn't be here."

Freya was looking at Merlin with such desperation, Arthur felt compelled to act.

He shot up from his seat, hands spread wide in an effort to calm the frantic young woman in front of him.

"It's okay: I'm not judging anyone here, nor am I gearing up to arrest anyone. It's just the lad you mentioned is familiar around these places."

***

Will - no last name registered - was a young pain in the arse who despised authority and came up with hare-brained schemes from time to time. Schemes that in no way foiled the local authorities, but the young lad's dedication to anarchy had a tendency to land him in hot water with the rest of the Camelot Police Force.

Arthur, however, had chosen to live up to his reputation as a liberal bleeding heart and cut the poor lad some slack over the years. If the NHS wouldn't support a mentally struggling youth, then who the bloody hell was he to take him into custody?

Will had never caused any harm to begin with - his poorly thought-out plans usually involved abandoned shopping centres, and even when he came face-to-face with the odd live human being, he tended to be very polite and explain to the person in charge that he absolutely intended to reimburse them for their efforts the minute he had any way to, and please would they retrieve the weapons that were being slung at his face, because he never meant to do this. Not to this extent, anyway.

In his experiences as a constable, Arthur had put this particular wayward soul under arrest many a time, and never had he struggled to keep his captive in one place. Will's fighter spirit seemed to be at constant war with his conscience, which truly meant no harm to anyone.

One of the things that lost Arthur his fellow officers's respect was his willingness to overlook threats made by the obviously mentally ill, and Will had just so happened to be one of his first. The young lad was volatile, anti-authority, and confused for sure, but Arthur had always put that down to the NHS's refusal to help out the homeless. The odd stay in a solitary holding cell was usually enough to cool down Will's tendency to fight.

Anything else would just be torture, as far as Arthur was concerned.

***

Freya sat back down opposite Arthur and looked at him with pleading eyes.

"He's a good guy, you know? He's just... adrift at sea."

Arthur nodded in understanding and motioned for her to continue.

Freya inhaled deeply, before exhaling and continuing. "We had this pact between us, that the moment we decided to marry each other, he'd hand me this beautiful ring and that would signify our Holy Union."

The young woman's face reddened with embarrassment, but Merlin and Arthur both pressed her to go on.

"Well, he told me he was still on the lookout for the perfect ring, but he'd found me a dress fit for a queen."

Freya's face fell, and she shook her head.

"It was beautiful: the kind of dress I'd only seen in dreams. But I knew he'd come across it by less than legitimate sources, y'know? Part of me loved it, because it was exactly the kind of gown I'd have chosen for myself, but the rest of me hated it, because I knew my sweet, impulsive boyfriend had snatched it from a boutique he goddamn well knew we couldn't afford."

Her breath hitched. "Everytime he wanted to do something nice for someone, he'd do it at all costs. Suddenly whatever instinct told him it was wrong to steal would disappear and he'd be breaking into overpriced boutiques just to get me a dress he felt I deserved."

At this point, Freya's eyes were fully downcast and her frail face was awash with tears.

Arthur reached out a hand and squeezed hers. "It's alright. I know Will, and I know he only ever does stupid things to please his loved ones."

His sincere tone seemed to reach more than one person, and suddenly he was being scrutinised by two pairs of wide, beautiful eyes: Freya's brown ones, acknowledging an empathetic soul, and Merlin's ocean-blues, shining with a mixture of admiration and arousal that Arthur had no idea what to do with.

Freya did her best to collect herself before continuing.

"So one night, Will drops by and hands me this bag of clothes from a boutique that I knew neither one of us could afford. And he just kept insisting he'd hit the jackpot and this was what he'd chosen to spend his lucky money on. It's hard to argue with him when he's supposedly on a winning streak, and I hate to doubt him..."

She began to fidget and cry again, so Arthur nodded in understanding and squeezed her small hands in encouragement.

"So one night, when the two of us are meant to meet, I decide to put on the dress, and at the time I was just so excited for him to see me in it," another tear trailed down Freya's cheek, and Merlin reached out to wipe it off. Arthur refused to break eye contact with the brave but terrified young woman sitting across from him.

"I was just wandering about the area, hoping to run into Will. I never did, but when I got to this alley I... I just... Oh, God." Freya's slender face was awash with tears now and it was all Arthur could do to keep her tethered to this conversation.

Merlin, too, was flush with panic and cradled his friend's face in an effort to keep her in the moment.

"I can do it," muttered Freya. "I can do this. So, okay, I was wearing the clothes Will had gifted me from God knows where, and they were _so fancy_ , I felt like the Belle of the Ball. But then I turned into this alleyway, hoping to find Will, and somebody seized me by the throat."

Freya squeezed out a couple more tears before resolutely lifting her chin and looking Arthur in the eye with a sense of determination.

"One man grabbed me, but I'll tell you this, Sir," and here her fragile hands squeezed Arthur's again. "There was another one. And he was ready to finish the job the other one couldn't."

***


	2. Chapter 2

**The killer was admiring his collection when someone knocked on the door.**

**"Alright, boss?"**

**The killer growled and aimed a kick at the door.**

**"If I need you here, I'll fucking well tell you."**

***

It took a while for Arthur to make heads or tales of Freya's story, the young woman was so shaken up. She'd knocked back three cups of water just to get her breathing under control, the trauma was so visceral.

All the while, Merlin gently rubbed her back and whispered encouragements at her.

What Freya's story boiled down to was this: she'd been hoping to meet Will at their usual spot when she started wandering around the area, trying to kill time. She thought she heard a noise coming from an alley and went to investigate. Somebody crept up behind her and tried to choke the life out of her. Through her blurred vision she spotted another silhouette waiting to step in if she tried to run.

"I held on for as long as I could and then I just... let go. I played dead. I held my breath for so long, I don't understand how I'm still here at all," she sobbed.

"What happened then, Freya?"

"Mistaken identity. That's all it was. One of them kept saying 'It's not there, why isn't it there?!' and then he got so angry. Kept telling the other guy that I wasn't 'her', whoever that was. He worked himself up so much that he started laying in on the other guy, and I just bolted up and ran."

Freya took another deep breath, hand absently rubbing at her throat, and continued. "I crawled into a garbage bin in the next alley over. Covered myself in all sorts of rubbish and waited. I could hear them swearing for what seemed like hours, but they didn't find me. They never even meant to kill me, but I was a loose end and now I can't stop looking over my shoulder. This is the first time in my life I'm _glad_ to be homeless and disgusting. Just because that's not the girl they'll be looking for."

Merlin cradled Freya to his chest now that she was full-on weeping again.

"Please tell me you'll find these pricks, Arthur."

"I will." Arthur nodded and reached out for Freya's arm. "We'll get justice for you, Freya, just hold on tight for now. If you'd rather disappear for a while, I know of several people who would be more than willing to help you out."

Freya was in no place to talk, so Merlin volunteered. "She's staying at Gwaine's. There's an isolated room in the back of his office, and I've never met anyone stupid enough to go through Gwaine _and_ Percival."

Arthur frowned. "You sure that's a good idea? Gwaine thinks he's seen this guy."

"But Gwaine knew nothing at the time. He didn't act suspicious because he never suspected anything to begin with. I thought it would be good to hide Freya in semi-plain sight, surrounded by men who'd crush the life out of anyone trying to go after her. That includes the clientele."

"Quick thinking, Merlin. Sometimes, I'd swear there was some amount of activity up there after all."

Arthur rapped his knuckles against his head, and Merlin just smirked.

***

Arthur didn't go straight home after his gruelling interview with Freya. It was hard to come face to face with any victim, but she'd been so fragile and terrified it gutted him. He had no doubt the questionable patrons at the Rising Sun would step in to protect this woman.

As much as he'd love to go back to his flat and sleep for days, he wanted to check in on Morgana first.

Morgana's isolated cottage usually resembled something out of _Winnie the Pooh_ or _The Hobbit_ , but at this time of night and with the situation at hand, it just struck Arthur as ominous. He didn't like the idea of his sister being so far removed from society.

He did, however, know better than to tell her this. Part of him also doubted that any pair of killers had the wits to overpower her. Either that, or she'd annoy them to death and he really shouldn't be joking about this-

"Why are you lurking on my stoop?"

Arthur jumped. Just a bit. "Christ, Morgana, you creepoid! Do you just sit around all day staring through your peep hole?"

"I do, at least these days," and didn't that just make Arthur feel like the biggest shite.

Morgana just smirked at him and motioned for him to get in the house.

"You're one to call me a _creepoid_ , and whatever kind of American teenage girl horror book you got that one from, we can only guess. Since when do you lurk? You've always been a kick the door down before ringing the bell kind of man."

Arthur plonked into one of Morgana's chairs. She was the only person he knew with an authentic fireplace, and it felt so lovely after the day he'd had.

"Earth to Braindead, hello?"

Arthur lazily inclined his head towards Morgana and relished in the annoyance written across her features.

"Always good to hear those silky tones, sis."

Morgana flung herself across the rug in front of the fireplace. "First of all, creepy as fuck thing to hear from a relative. Second of all, why are you here?"

"Met with a young lady today who ran into our guys and lived to tell the tale."

Morgana was dumbstruck. "Did you say _guys_?"

"Oh, yes, you know the old story: hope to catch a blood-thirsty psychopath, get two for the price of one. I'm gonna have a hell of a time explaining that one to the team. You know they're probably dim enough to believe these women dropped dead of their own accord?"

"Don't get me started," Morgana snorted derisively. "You ask those tossers to locate their own arses on a map, they ask you what a map is."

Arthur grinned. He and Morgana may be at each other's throats whenever the opportunity presented itself, but they always had each other's backs.

"Mind if I have a look at your dresses?"

Morgana arched an eyebrow and Arthur inwardly steeled himself. "Why, I don't think you've the body type. The face, definitely, and with a bit of rouge-"

"Get off it, you mindless strumpet, I want to check something out."

***

After some careful scrutiny (as well as coming to the conclusion that Morgana had far too much money to spend and could benefit from being cut off for a while), Arthur returned to the living room, where Morgana was on her fourth glass of wine. She'd done her best to remain calm, but the news about the two killers had shaken her.

"So? Figure out you're more of a corset and skirt man, yet?"

"Gana... It's not an exact match, but that girl I saw today, from the way she described her dress, she could've easily passed for you."

Morgana's breath caught in her throat and Arthur wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"I think it's time we look into getting you some protection."

***

Arthur had had a rough couple of days with very little sleep. He was this close to running on empty.

He'd been looking into potential bodyguards for Morgana, and until he found the right person, he'd been spending his nights at her place.

The guy he really wanted was Percival from the Rising Sun, but Freya's life was also in danger and they needed him there.

Arthur was this close to just Googling 'men who look like brick walls 4 protection' when Leon stepped up to the plate. "I'll take care of her, you know I've always been fond of Morgana."

_A little too fond_ , thought Arthur, but put aside his protective-big-brother feelings and Leon was the right man for the job. Only...

"You're a superintendent, Leon. We kind of need you here."

Leon shrugged him off. "Been ages since I took a couple days of leave. And we both know Gaius is running this operation, really."

He had a point there. In spite of his advanced age, Gaius had this case by the balls.

"Besides," Leon continued. "By hanging around Morgana all day, I'll still technically be on the case. Might even get to catch those fuckers in the act, and I could really use another feather in my cap since you and Gaius have been landing all the juicy parts."

When Morgana opened her door to see Arthur with Leon in tow, her eyes rolled towards the skies, but she beckoned them in.

"Here's the rules: you stay in the basement and if you so much as try to catch a glimpse of me naked I _will_ use you as a personalised dartboard for the rest of your stay."

She'd be alright.

***

It was chief superintendent Gaius who saved Arthur from the ridicule of his peers.

"Alright, gents, listen up. Here's what we have: two men, both white and approximately 6'1". One is around the age of 35 and muscular; presumably the assistant. The other is around 50 and broad of frame, though out of shape; presumably the mastermind. They target rich, lonely women and a credible source has told us that they're looking for something. We don't know what sort of item they're after, if any, because nothing's been reported missing from the bodies. What we do know is we're looking at at least another victim: the got the wrong woman last time."

Gaius clapped his hands together and boomed, "Get to work."

Arthur, whose mind had been on automatic pilot ever since his interview with Freya, suddenly snapped to attention. He whipped out his phone and rang Morgana.

"When you first told me about that man you saw-"

"Nice day to you, too, brother mine."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, what did you say he was looking at again? Besides you?"

"My pendant. I thought he'd snatch it right off my neck."

"Can you and Leon bring it by the station today, ASAP?"

"Sure, but I don't unders-"

Arthur disconnected the call, knowing he'd get an earful later, and sprinted to Gaius's office.

"Sir, I believe I know what they're after."

***

**The killer's throat was hoarse from all the screaming he'd been doing lately.**

**Nothing had been going right, and if it hadn't been for that _idiot boy_ he'd hired to do a man's job...**

**He couldn't work when he was like this. The anger was beginning to overwhelm him.**

**Anger at his dumbfuck friend, anger at himself for hiring the incompetent bastard, anger at the bitch who should've been dead already but now had a live-in roommate. He wanted everything to burn.**

***

It had been a long day, Arthur telling Gaius what he knew, Morgana and Leon stopping by to drop off the pendant, making sure Leon got Morgana back home safe, then hours of sitting around Gaius's office hoping to find the common denominator that would lead them to where the pendants had been made.

So far, they hadn't gotten past 'heirloom' and 'magical symbolism', which narrowed down absolutely nothing. Arthur had no idea what he'd be doing the next couple of hours: sleeping or yelling.

Seemed yelling came first, because when he got to the car park, Merlin was sitting on the hood of Arthur's car.

"That car has better insurance than you do, but I'd still love it if you hopped off."

Merlin did so with a grin. "So what's the news? Freya's still stuck in that room and I'm experiencing second-hand cabin fever."

"Not a thing, _Mer_ lin. But as luck would have it, thanks to Freya's story we have more solid leads to go on. She'll have to lay low for now, but hopefully it won't be long."

"That's a nothing answer, Arthur, I need details."

Arthur groaned. "Look, I know you've been down to the station so many times it seems like you live here, but you're not actually an employee, Merlin. This is thing's on a need-to-know basis."

"And I need to know!"

Shoving Merlin out of the way, Arthur got into his car. He should've figured the idiot would get right in with him.

"Go home, Merlin."

"Don't have one, _Arthur_." Merlin's eyes went wide and watery, the very face of emotional manipulation, and Arthur was too fucking tired for this.

"Fine then," he growled and put the car into gear.

He'd meant to put a bit of a scare into the other man, but of course Merlin just whooped with excitement.

"So where are we going? Have I finally annoyed you so much I'm going straight to the Big House?"

"Yes you have, and who the fuck calls it the Big House anymore?"

"The pokey, then. The slammer. You gonna toss me in a cell and tell me I've been a very bad boy? Will there be a beat-off- I mean beatdown. _Sir_."

Arthur forced his eyes away from Merlin's infectious grin. "After spending the evening in Gwaine's company, I'm starting to see where you get this from."

"Aye. Wasn't much of a flirt before I met Gwaine."

"You're not much of one now."

***

From the way Merlin gaped at Arthur's flat, you would've thought it was Buckingham Palace. 

Of course the rude git pawed at all of Arthur's possessions, including the windows, but there was something about his reverence that shamed Arthur. He knew he lived well, but compared to Merlin he might as well be the Lord of the Manor.

"I can't believe you actually took me back to your flat. I'm telling everyone. By which I mean Gwaine."

Christ, but Arthur could only imagine _that_ conversation.

"I brought you here so you could sleep, _in the guestroom_ , and to force a couple of microwave dinners down your throat. Far as I can tell you haven't eaten since the 90s."

"Or mayhap you've been eating _too much_." Merlin's eyes sparkled with mirth and it took Arthur all of his strength not to throttle him. With his tongue.

"Sit yourself down and see if there's anything good on. I'll get dinner."

"No way, you have the entire _Downton Abbey_ box set?!"

Merlin's giggles ricocheted through the room.

Arthur grumbled into his frozen lasagna. "Didn't I tell you to sit down?"

"You are such a Dowager Countess."

***

They were about halfway done with dinner, sitting cross-legged on the couch with the telly on, when Arthur spoke.

"So, you still manage to catch up on TV series from time to time, then?"

Merlin nodded fervently. "Oh yeah. Got a couple of friends I can crash with from time to time. Took over their Netflix accounts like you wouldn't believe."

"That's good. That you have places to stay, I mean."

"Well, I don't usually. It's not that they don't want me there, I just don't like taking advantage like that. Can't exactly pay rent, yeah?"

Arthur had spent enough time with the homeless population to recognise this as a common theme. No matter how little one had, pride still mattered to people, whether it was refusing to live at a friend's house or refusing to eat before your dog got to.

Speaking of which... "Atticus! Here, boy!"

Merlin's eyes widened with delight when Atticus came bounding into the room, a sheepish look on his face that Arthur didn't much care for.

"Merlin, meet Atticus, _who's been liberating himself to my bed again_."

"Sounds like your dumb fault for leaving the bedroom door open," said Merlin from somewhere on the floor, where Atticus had tackled him and showered him with licks.

"Speaking of dumb, you let him slobber like that you'll never stop smelling of dog. Ever again."

"Oh, but who wouldn't want to smell like this good boy? Eh?" Merlin ruffled Atticus's fuzzy muzzle and cooed.

It struck Arthur then how much he'd like to come home to this sight after every hard day, and that was reason enough to get up and go to bed. It wouldn't do to hallucinate.

"Right. I'm going to bed. Shower's right next to the guest room, and you're gonna need it after your close encounter with this one," he motioned for Atticus to follow him to his little dog bed.

"Night, Merlin. Don't break anything."

***

The next morning, Arthur dropped Merlin off at Gwaine's before going into the station. He'd tried to get him to stay as long as he liked, but no dice. He pulled up to the curb at the Rising Sun.

"I like your place," Merlin beamed. "You have the good jams."

"Glad to know my choice in breakfast spreads pleases you. Try not to get arrested until tomorrow at its earliest."

"Can't make promises I probably won't keep. Take care, Arthur. It's been real."

Merlin pecked him on the cheek and hopped out before Arthur could do anything.

_Yeah. It's been real._

Arthur cleared his head and took off for the station, where it appeared all hell had broken loose. People were milling about the place in a frenzy, and Arthur couldn't get a word in edgewise.

To his surprise, both Leon and Morgana were sitting in Gaius's office. Morgana did not seem happy.

"What brings you two here?"

Morgana scowled at Leon from the corner of her eye. "It would seem they've picked up one of your guys. The lackey. He's in custody right now. And still this hulking lump of fuzz with two eyes painted on insists on being my babysitter. I've come to ask for my life back, and neither of these," she smiled sweetly at Leon and Gaius, " _gentlemen_ are willing to give me that."

Apparently they'd been at it for a while, because Leon just heaved a deep sigh and looked down at the floor in exasperation, while Gaius attempted to speak sense into her.

"It's precisely _because_ he's the lackey, Ms. Pendragon. We have no idea if he's the muscle or the clean-up crew and until we do, it means we have another highly dangerous man out there. This here situation will have made him more desperate to finish the job and vanish. You are not safe."

"I can take on one man."

Arthur squeezed Morgana's shoulder and crouched down to meet her eyes. 

"Gana, you could take down a whole army, no one's questioning that. But this man is unhinged. Mix basic human strength with insanity and you've got an unknown factor. Maybe you can take him, maybe he rips your head off in one go, _you can't predict this_."

He brushed a lock of hair from her face and looked into her stricken eyes. "Let us do our job. Please?"

It was the 'please' that did it. Arthur tended to keep that word as far from his vocabulary as humanly possible, but he needed Morgana safe and if it meant cramping her style for a bit, she was just going to have to deal.

"Fine," she got up and dusted off her skirt. "But I'm not happy with any of you, and there will be a reckoning."

She stormed out of the office, Leon hot on her heels.

"That poor, poor man..." Gaius had summed up his thoughts.

***

Arthur didn't know what he'd expected to see in the interrogation room. This case had gotten so big and convoluted, he'd almost expected a smoke monster.

The guy sitting in the chair had been left to stew for quite some time.

Gaius had filled Arthur in on the details: the bloke had walked into the station, saying he had "urgent information" regarding a high-profile case. Said he'd been hanging out with this guy who didn't seem to have all his ducks in a row. Palled around with sketchy types and was growing more unhinged by the minute. Supposedly he'd overheard this man and his coworker discuss a series of murders, robbing rich ladies of their pendants.

The idiot had given himself away: nothing about the pendants had ever made the papers, and his physical description was almost an exact match. One quick background check proved what they'd already suspected.

They'd hardly any trouble finding him in the database, because it hadn't been very long since Valiant West was released from prison. _Good God_ , Arthur mused. _He barely let the door hit him in the arse before going right back at it._

Valiant was low-level scum, for the most part: robberies, assault, drunk and disorderly. But he'd clearly upgraded. And not very well, at that - he was sold out by two of his former inmates in exchange for early release. Seemed Valiant had been trying to start his own private little 'thug for hire' business.

As for the man who'd hired him... Valiant wasn't budging. Yet. Kept insisting on cutting a deal, a true snowball's chance in hell, but perhaps it would be as easy as letting him think he's getting one.

Arthur went into the room and made himself comfortable.

"So, Mr. West, any updates for us?"

The man shackled to the table across from him was strong and mean-faced, but there was a good deal of fear in his eyes.

"I told the last one who asked me I'm not saying shit without a guarantee of safety."

Arthur pretended to nod thoughtfully. "Well, then, I suppose you haven't really come here to confess at all, have you? Sounds to me like you're just another saddo trying to crash a murder investigation. We'll just have to put you back on the street."

The other man's eyes widened and his mouth was beginning to work, but Arthur got up and left the room. Let him sit in his own urine for a bit.

It wasn't quite how Arthur had planned to manipulate Valiant, but as soon as he took note of the man's thinly-veiled terror, he knew it was the right course of action. Now to inform the rest of the crew...

***

Eventually, it was Leon and Gaius who got to sit down with Valiant and milk him for all he was worth.

It had been Arthur's suggestion that Leon drop Morgana off at his desk and join forces with Gaius. They were the perfect team: both so unthreatening in appearance that Valiant might get cocky, and so shrewd they'd latch onto anything incriminating the man said.

The wait was a nightmare and so was Morgana, who was still resolutely not speaking to any of the men in her life. The thing about Morgana's silences was that they were _loud_.

Arthur was busy on his paperwork while Morgana studiously avoided him. It wasn't until he heard Merlin's voice that he got an idea.

He left his office and tore Merlin away from his conversation with the lady at the desk, rubbing the other man's scalp with his knuckles. "What did I tell you about you not working here?"

"Bloody ow, you knob!" one of Merlin's scary sharp elbows connected with Arthur's stomach and he backed away from the lethal beanstalk, lest his appendix rupture.

"I was here to find out what you know, and yes, I get it: _need-to-know-basis, Muhhhrlin_ , and all that shite. Freya lives off pork scratchings and stale beer in a shitty pub backroom because of these flaming sacks of rubbish, so excuse me if I want to get her out of there."

Arthur threw up his hands in surrender. "I get it, and I happen to agree with you. Freya deserves better. Which is why I'm happy to tell you-"

"That you got one of the men in lockup? Yeah, Bitsie told me that."

"Who?"

Merlin's eyes rolled so far back into his head, Arthur feared they'd have to take him to hospital.

" _Bitsie_. The kindly woman manning the desk you so rudely snatched me from, Bitsie who screens your phonecalls so none of you arrogant meatheads have to deal with the psychos pretending they were personally responsible for the death of Lady Di. That's who."

Arthur scratched his head. He'd only ever thought of her as 'the old lady at the desk'. Maybe Merlin was right, and he _was_ an arrogant meathead.

"Bloody right I'm right," Merlin scowled.

"Did I say that out loud?"

"Didn't have to," and here Merlin's cheeky grin returned. "I know all your facial expressions, Arthur. This one's the insecure, do-the-peasants-have-a-point-maybe face."

Arthur snarled. "I have no such face. I have no such doubts. Just because you're some kind of bleeding heart-"

"Like I don't know what they call _you_ behind your back." Arthur didn't like that smirk at all. 

"Arthur..." Merlin sighed. "Stop overthinking this kind of shite and just be more attentive to other people. I know you can do it. You hang out with me, and I'm nothing."

And well, how was Arthur going to tell Merlin that he was in fact _everything_? Not a goddamn chance, bleeding heart or no. So he did the next best thing and set out to do what he'd planned to when he heard Merlin's voice.

"My sister's stuck inside my office, bored out of her mind, and I'd love for you to go in there and bore her some more with those tedious, pointless ramblings of yours."

Merlin, it seemed, would put up with any insult if it meant he'd get to be useful.

Or maybe not. "And what, exactly, do I get in return?"

Arthur pulled out the big guns. "Here's some of that need-to-know for you: she's a potential target for the men I'm currently investigating."

Merlin all but sprinted into the office.

***

As Arthur had hoped for, Morgana was in a considerably better mood once he got back to the office. He'd gone out for a pizza break, and unfortunately missed Merlin's departure, but the soft look in Morgana's eyes was enough to settle him.

He didn't like to have to lock away his powerful, opinionated sister any more than she enjoyed being locked away. He just didn't know how to make her see that.

"He's great," she smiled, though still not willing to meet his eyes. "And I think he'll be good for you."

Arthur spluttered for a moment before deciding on Resting Indignant Face. "Merlin could never work for me. Too many nights in jail, for one..."

"Nice deflecting, there, brother, but I've known you since before bloody yesterday. You may not want to hear it, but we're close enough that I know your type."

"You're right: I don't want to hear this. Any of it."

Morgana hummed, amusement evident (and he'd take it, at that; even if it was at his expense, an amused Morgana topped the angry, frail husk she'd been since all this bullshit started).

"So let's pretend for the time being that you don't have a weakness for killer bone structure and an even killer-er personality... When was your last relationship, again?"

"I get laid all the time. Not that I'd want my _sister_ to know."

Morgana's laser-focus just sharpened. "I didn't ask when you last got laid. I asked for the last time you were serious about someone."

Arthur had no idea how to answer that. Being gay in the police force was still A Thing, as much as Arthur caring about other people's opinions despite not wanting to was A Thing. He was only 27, and he was fine with the odd casual hook-up and a reputation for living the grand bachelor life.

As long as he was nowhere near Merlin, that was.

With all the jibes about getting this far in his career because of his _blasted father_... He didn't want to put up with the 'queer cop' bollocking, too. Better to just be seen as a lone wolf who could land any woman he set his eyes on. Besides, he'd never denied it _outright_... just didn't bother to correct the ones who'd pegged him as a ladies' man.

"I don't need love to sustain me, Morgana. This job sustains me."

Morgana dramatically slumped back into her chair. "You sound like every leading lady in a romantic comedy, and I'll tell you what: they always end up boffing the boss."

"For Christ's sake, Gaius is like the father I should've had, you freak. And Leon's got, like, some sort of mental subscription to your tits."

"Leon worships me for my brain, though I wouldn't expect you to understand that kind of depth. Nevertheless, what I'm saying is the more you go on about how career-oriented you are, the more I predict a future meeting of the nether regions between you and Merlin. And the only thing here that makes you _not_ a cliché is that you don't actually work together. Technically."

Arthur made a gagging noise, the way any adult career-oriented man would've.

"I forgot how much I hated Conspiracy Morgana. Bring back the bitch already."

"No reason they shouldn't exist in the same space, brother dear."

***

**The killer was out of his mind with anger.**

**That useless waste of steroids never showed up and was probably right now bawling to the police.**

**He had to get this over with. Tonight, no matter what, Morgana Pendragon had to go.**


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur had taken Atticus for a long walk across town before deciding to drop by the Rising Sun to make sure Freya was okay. He'd most likely need her as a witness once they had both perps in custody, and he was dreading the moment he had to tell her. Freya was so fragile at the moment, who knew how she would react when she was face to face with her would-be murderers.

He'd already begged Gaius for the possibility of a filmed testimony, but that request was still pending.

If Freya seemed up for it, he'd gingerly approach the subject, but otherwise he would just check in on her and leave that matter up in the air.

Like Arthur suspected, no one in the Rising Sun gave a toss that he'd brought a dog along. In fact, two very intense-looking Dobermans were eyeing Atticus in a way that made him cling to his leash.

A giant of a man, every bit as wide as he was tall, lunged for the dog before Arthur could tuck him safely back at his side.

"DOGGO!"

In stark contrast to his erstwhile scowl, the man's bulbous, shaved head was grinning down at Atticus, and Arthur could not even restrain his dog from leaping into the man's massive arms.

Whilst Atticus lapped up the attention, the gelatinous mountain man smiled up at Arthur, delight written all over his face. This way, he looked less like a hired killer and more like a comically oversized newborn.

"That's a good doggo you have right there, mate, you must be well proud."

Arthur's lips twitched.

"Yeah, he's a neat fellow, just got to work on his impulse control."

Atticus licked a wide stripe across his new friend's face, and the man positively _giggled_.

"If it weren't for that free spirit of his I'd never have got such a lovely cuddle out of him, ain't that right fella? Ain't that right?" The man was positively cooing at this point.

"Yeah, you're the goodest of good boys, aintcha."

There was no way Atticus was ungluing himself from his intimidating partner in crime anytime soon, so Arthur took a chance. "You wouldn't mind watching him for a minute while I take care of business... would you?"

The other man lit up like Christmas had come early and Arthur was Father sodding Christmas himself. "For real? No kidding?"

Arthur smiled. "No kidding. Be good to your new best friend, Atticus, be with you in a minute."

Arthur wasn't too worried about leaving his dog behind in a bar full of (potential) criminals. Atticus may have been a giant bundle of love wrapped in an unruly coat of fur, but one bad move and he'd strike, zero hesitation. 

He had been one of those police dogs who'd never made it onto the force because he just loved meeting new people too much; more than he loved locating drugs and bodies, anyway. Arthur couldn't blame him: he'd put dibs on the dog the moment it became clear that Atticus wasn't cut out for this line of work. Still, Atticus's doggy-danger senses were top notch: if Baldy McBabyface turned out to be less sweet than he'd previously been, his throat and face were both at risk.

To start with, Arthur approached Percival, who was standing menacingly in the corner of the pub. He was a good lad, Arthur knew, but nearly everything came off menacing when you were as tall as a church clock and more muscle than skin.

"Evening, Perce. Things looking good from your end?"

"Evening, Detective. All clear, far as I know."

"Wonderful. Gwaine in?"

Percival nodded. "Right in his office where I left him, Sir."

Arthur clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man. And it's Arthur, you know that."

"Long as I'm on the clock and you're looking after witnesses, you are Sir, Sir."

***

Gwaine was, to Arthur's utter shock, dancing around his office to Nina Simone. Rather melodramatically, at that.

If the other man felt any shame at being discovered, he hid it well, primarily by the way he continued his elaborate dance, motioning for Arthur to come in and make himself comfortable (either that, or he was pretending to be a drunken species of exotic bird; Arthur had no idea what to make of any of this).

"Detective Inspector! What a pleasure."

"Call me Arthur, and don't tell me that as long as you're on the clock-"

"-you're Sir to me, Sir?" Gwaine stopped dancing and grinned. "Went by Percy first, did ya? He's a goody-two-shoes if ever I met one, total teacher's pet in a schoolyard bully's body, that one. Not in the bedroom, though, and that's what counts."

Gwaine continued his inexplicable dance as Arthur just stared.

"You mean, the two of you-"

"We're married," Gwaine grinned smugly. "You wouldn't be the first to look the way you do right now. Whoever put it out there that queers can't throw a punch as much as the next guy, I'd love to kiss them right on the mouth, because underestimation is the tool of kings."

Arthur cleared his throat. "I didn't mean to imply-"

Again, he was interrupted by Gwaine. "I know _you_ don't, Det- _Arthur_. Sniffed the ole man-lovin' vibe coming off you from a mile away. Though I'll be honest, by the time I clocked you, you were staring down those bikers at the pool table like a thirsty man stuck in a desert. And who could blame you, all that bending... That game should be outlawed, long as the straights get mad at you for staring."

Arthur was getting very frustrated with the fact that he never knew what to expect from this man in front of him, who seemed to have his number at every turn.

"Look, Gwaine, I'm not entirely certain what you presume to know, but I can assure you-"

Another. _Fucking_. Interruption. "Oh, for Christ's sake. Let your skirts billow, Arthur; you're amongst friends who like to check out other men's junk, no need for that holier-than-thou policeman posturing here. If it makes you feel better, I'd never breathe another word of it to my customers."

Somehow, Arthur found that hard to believe, and his skepticism was evident to Gwaine.

"I'll admit: the rumour would've been spread around like a whore at Oktoberfest, or me on Halloween for all the difference that makes, if it wasn't for the way you protect Merlin and Freya. Nothing personal, we're just not big on coppers around here."

Gwaine interrupted his confusing solo-dance for a minute to rest his hands upon the desk and look Arthur straight in the eye. 

"I may not know enough about you to care about you as a person - though keep looking so closeted and frustrated and I just might - but I care about those two kids you're looking after. And anyone with the authorities who actually gives a shit about what happens to them is okay with me."

Gwaine did another elaborate twirl and Arthur, feeling ever so tired, decided to cut to the chase. "So, Freya. Mind if I go and see her?"

"Very well. God, but you are impenetrable. I'll have to ask Merlin for tips."

With a final lascivious wink, Gwaine opened the door to the secret room.

***

Freya was curled up on a mattress, reading a book, and it took a minute before she looked up and saw Arthur. When she did, she jumped up and immediately wrapped Arthur in a tight and unexpected hug.

"Detective! How wonderful to see you!"

Arthur looked into Freya's smiling face and could hardly believe the difference. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been so sad and terrified, he could hardly imagine her being grateful to be toiling away inside a hidden compartment in a shady pub. Then again, Merlin _had_ said they'd been feeding her stale beer...

The confident young woman looking into Arthur's eyes appeared to be completely sober, however.

"It's great to see you, Freya, and I'm so sorry you've been stuck here all this time. To make matters worse, I'm afraid I haven't even come to set you free just yet."

Freya shook her head. "That's okay, I've been doing very well! In here I get to read to my heart's content."

At Arthur's quizzical frown, she continued. "I love reading and spending time on my own, more than anything. But being out on the streets all the time, there's always people, and you're always on your guard to make sure no one steals your stuff which means there's so little time to read. That, and lack of money for books, of course. But Gwaine, he's got about a hundred of them! And some of them are _so bad_!"

Somehow, she sounded even more enthusiastic about this last part, and Arthur had no idea if this was a 'not getting women' issue, or a special Freya issue altogether. Regardless, she seemed at peace, finally.

"I'm so happy to see you doing this well. I was worried that spending all this time being cooped up somewhere would upset you, but honestly? You seem to have flourished."

Freya beamed. "That's probably the little Merlin devil on your shoulder, Detective. He's so sweet, but he doesn't get it. He wouldn't last two nights here. Me, I've made myself comfortable, as you can tell."

She held out a hand to indicate the stacks of books and various posters she'd put up on the walls.

"Gwaine said I was welcome to stay here for as long as I want," she admitted, rather painstakingly, Arthur thought. Another example of homeless pride. 

"I told him I couldn't put him and Percy out like that when I can't even pay rent, and you know what he said? He said I could be a server here, once all this killer stuff's over with! Can you believe it? They don't even _have_ servers here, 's just Gwaine and Percy bringing people their drinks. But they both insisted on hiring me! All my life, I've never been anything other than a weird lady selling paintings to strangers on the side of the road. A server! Imagine that."

Her face once more lit up with a smile, and Arthur was full of affection for this sweet-natured, fragile but strong young woman in front of him. Hers was the disposition he so badly wished on all of his live victims. 

But still, he worried. "Freya, those men out there... Are you sure you..." he had no idea how to finish his thought without sounding chauvinistic or offensive. Thankfully, Freya just waved him off.

"They're pussycats, really. Don't get me wrong, I know a lot of them probably do very bad things when they're out there, but I got lucky: they're sexist."

At Arthur's raised brow, she continued, "Most, if not all, of them are the kind of men who think hurting a woman's like hurting a child. So even the ones who, like, brag about chopping some poor fellow into bits just for owing them money, they get all gooey-eyed over me because I'm a young tiny lady down on her luck. I could probably take more than half of them in an arm-wrestling competition, but I'll never let on, because at least this way I've got myself an army of bodyguards."

Arthur tried to conflate Freya's tough words with that innocent, wide-eyed face, and found himself cracking up. 

"I really should introduce you to my sister."

***

The next morning, Arthur and Atticus were curled up on the couch together.

If anyone asked Arthur, it was to get the spooky late night bar patron smell off of his dog. In reality, he hadn't much liked how fond Atticus was of Casper - the Big Baby Hitman he'd left him with - and he was feeling a bit proprietary.

It wasn't until Atticus happily licked him awake, tongue worming its way into his nostrils twice, that Arthur remembered why he usually never cuddled with his very cuddly love of a dog: there was no way the happy, affectionate fucker wasn't carrying some form of the Bubonic Plague in his breath alone.

After a particularly lengthy shower, Arthur made it to work, and lo and behold: there was Merlin, awaiting his presence.

The moment Arthur approached him, Merlin snapped, "Out of the way, I'm not here for _you_."

Then Arthur's face fell and Merlin nearly collapsed in a fit of chuckles.

"Oh my GOD, I knew you cared! Your face just now! YOUR FACE."

Arthur leveled an unimpressed eyebrow at the poorly-mannered sack of bones across from him.

"Whenever you're ready, _Mer_ lin... I was just going to tell you you're sitting in a Handicap spot."

Merlin whirled around to look at the sign prominently displayed behind him.

When _his_ face fell, Arthur made it all the way into the station before he smirked. Because he was a sophisticated sort.

***

Merlin, of course, wouldn't grant Arthur any peace.

Arthur had just started to listen to the recordings Gaius had made of his and Leon's interview with Valiant, when an obnoxious pain in the arse started banging on his desk to get his attention.

"For f- I swear I hired people to keep you out."

Merlin grinned triumphantly.

"Told them the last 5 times that I was your nephew and we were still going back and forth over your father's will: turns out he liked me just a little bit more and you weren't having any of that. Not my fault you're a shit detective."

Arthur could only gape indignantly for a moment before getting himself together.

"How in the bloody name of all things good and pure did you even learn about my father?!"

Merlin shrugged in that insufferable, can't-help-it way of his. "Whenever a corrupt copper croaks: the poors rejoice."

Merlin immediately winced, having finally realised this was the man's son he was speaking to, and adopted a slightly more sympathetic tone.

"Sorry, Arthur, I know that's low. It's just... I like seeing you, and this case involves one of my closest friends, and I just want to know what's happening. And the bit about seeing you: especially that."

Any other time, Merlin's words would've been a soothing balm to his fractured soul. But not now.

"You used my _father_ to... I don't even care. I do have news about Freya as well as the case, but I don't care. I'm not telling you jack. Get the _fuck_ out of my office, Merlin."

Merlin was gearing up to protest, Arthur could tell, so he did the one thing he'd never done before in any of their previous unplanned meetings: he pressed the Security button on his phone.

"Yes, hello? This is DCI Pendragon here. I'd like to have someone removed from the premises indefinitely."

***

Arthur had no idea why Merlin's ruse had pissed him off so much. Merlin's insolence had always amused him, and if anything, he liked Merlin _so much better_ than he'd ever liked his father.

He had no doubt that if Morgana had been there, she'd have told him he'd never properly bothered to mourn his father's death, but fuck her, too. Arthur didn't need any company when he was busy feeling petulant and argumentative.

Uther Pendragon had been a tough act to follow, to say the least. In many ways, he was as untouchable in death as he'd been in life.

Not a once had Arthur managed to satisfy the old man.

In his late teens, Arthur intended to become a social worker. Years of watching Uther talk down to the hired help and let down the people he was supposed to protect, as well as listening to Morgana's impassioned rants about the poor and downtrodden, Arthur had wanted more than anything to protect the weak and vulnerable in this society.

His years of secondary school had flown by, and before he knew it, so did his uni years: he was a skilled athlete, an English Major, and the one person _everyone_ \- from the nerds to the athletes - invited to their end-of-the-year parties. While he always lacked for someone to truly talk to, especially when Morgana was off to another university, he'd always had a network of friends somewhere.

Granted, if any of these people had known he was gay as well as opposed to everything his father stood for, he probably would've been shunned for life.

It was that underlying feeling of inadequacy that made him buy into more of his father's bollocks. Before he knew it, Arthur strived to maintain a certain image just to please a man he wasn't even sure he respected.

Uther Pendragon had eyes and ears everywhere. He wouldn't abide by a son who lowered himself to serve the lowest of the lowest - meaning the poor and misunderstood - and he certainly wouldn't allow for his only son to be a homosexual.

At the age of 15, Uther having discovered his boy's collection of poorly-hidden magazines, Arthur was shipped off - first class - to the United States, where he'd ended up in a terrifying prison posing as a youth centre that meant to keep gay kids from thinking their gay thoughts.

It was mostly about reciting Bible verses and scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush, from what Arthur remembered. It never quite taught him how to stop being gay, but if it taught him one thing, it was that going against Uther Pendragon was a day job, and he'd do well to prepare himself for the next blow.

If it hadn't been for his sister's parting words ("You just focus on being _you_ , little bro, and fuck the hypocrites"), Arthur would probably have allowed these people to brainwash him, just to get his father off his back.

It wasn't until he neared his 17th year that Arthur was allowed to return home, having put on a brave, virtuous face for his host(age) family and passing with flying colours. He'd been labeled a 'success story', and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. 

By that time he'd definitely got a little weird. He'd done everything in his power to resist, but psalms came to him as easily as other words once had, and he felt a crippling wave of nausea everytime he came across a man who aroused him.

As things usually went, it took Morgana's no-bullshit policy to screw his head on straight. After several nights of striding into his room with a sense of determination, only to deflate and say, "Nevermind, Arthur. Forget it.", the sight of her pod-brother just too upsetting to deal with, she'd finally had enough of the charade and laid into him something fierce.

He remembered her speech word-for-word, because it had been one of the things that saved him from the confines of his own mind.

"First things first, Arthur: you're gay. Congratulations, picture all the fucking rainbow banners, et cetera, but _you are_. Before you start: I knew it the moment I came home with Cenred and you ignored all your angry-big-bro instincts in favour of drooling all over my boyfriend. Who, by the way? Was a massive shit. Which you'd have definitely noticed if it hadn't been for your tongue hanging somewhere around your testicle area; and don't even get me started on how much _that_ part of you was paying attention at the time. There's some things a sibling can never come back from, you know."

Every single one of Arthur's muscles had constricted in shame, but Morgana gave him no time to offer his side of the story (and truly, he hadn't known what that was, anyway.)

"Then, let me think... Ooh, yes! There's the fact that Father wants you to follow in his footsteps, and you're lapping up his praise like the kind of sad, starving dog we saw on the side of the road that time we took our fun trip to Spain. Remember how shite you felt, seeing those dogs while daddy dearest told you to ignore those dirty mutts, they weren't benefiting anyone? Good, I hope you do, because I'd like to get into that one..."

Arthur had remained utterly still, a terrified mannequin with no means of escape, while his brave, outspoken half-sister laid down the law.

Morgana didn't miss a thing: how miserable Arthur had been, his descent into Bible-rehashing madness, how insistent Uther was to turn his offspring into obedient clones, and how hard she'd fought to save not only herself but _both of them_ from Uther's ice-cold grip, and just how much of a dick Arthur would be if she lost him now.

After what seemed like a day's worth of rants, Morgana had finally reached her conclusion.

"My _point_ , brother dearest, is this: if he makes you this bloody unhappy, what's the point in trying to please him at all? Why not - and bear with me here - do the right thing and be the _opposite_ of what he is?"

It took him a couple of years to de-brainwash, but the minute he'd stumbled across his father's body in the kitchen, dead of a stroke possibly caused by hatred and fear, Arthur finally took Morgana's words to heart.

Instead of horror and dismay, his initial reaction had been one of a weight being lifted. A sense of relief like he'd never felt before.

 _So why_ , he wondered, _did Merlin's words sting so much?_

***

At the end of his shift, Arthur had learned a great deal of new information.

Valiant had confessed to working for a man by the name of A.D., nothing further, who believed in the power of witchcraft and had somehow convinced himself he was the next target of a powerful curse (the previous target, according to 'A.D.', had come as something of a surprise to Arthur: his own father, Uther Pendragon).

As if there had been any doubt before, A.D. was clearly a paranoid psychopath, and over the past two years he'd focused on a particular kind of symbol, one found in the necklaces worn by these women.

They'd succeeded in tracking down the designer who'd made them, but only by means of her grandchildren. She herself had been long dead, and the beautiful, elaborate pendants had died with her. Of course, she'd never actually been involved in matters of witchcraft, but that hardly seemed to matter to the elusive 'A.D.'

Amongst his many confessions, Valiant had made one thing very clear: he was willing to work for any psychotic piece of shit as long as he got some sweet cash out of the deal. That didn't exactly grant him any favours with the rest of the station.

He did, however, sell out his former employer so fast it was unbelievable. This so-called 'A.D.' was apparently wealthy and solitary ( _much as his victims were_ , Arthur thought with a snarl of disgust) and had hired Valiant on a word-of-mouth basis. The mouth had been running, for sure, but the word was hardly reliable. A.D. didn't find out about this until it was too late, and more's the pity for him.

Try as he might, Valiant never quite managed to paint himself as the hapless victim taken by surprise. Just because he didn't have the balls to kill didn't mean he'd never intended to, and luckily this was one matter on which the rest of the force agreed.

They'd comb the earths to hell and back for this so-called A.D., but Valiant himself would probably not see the outside of a prison cell until he was well into his 50s.

***

Arthur had begged Morgana to think back on the time her mother gave her that pendant, but in spite of her best efforts, it never happened.

The circumstances surrounding Morgana's birth were painful for both siblings.

All Arthur could think of was the fact that Uther had cheated on his mother with another woman: all Morgana could think of was the fact that her mother hadn't been enough.

They'd decided early on in their relationship that while their parents knew what they'd done, neither of them was responsible for the mess that followed. Arthur promised to love Morgana, even though she was illegitimate, and Morgana promised to love Arthur, even though his mum had been Daddy's favourite.

In the end, they'd both resisted Uther's demands.

Morgana had a hard time thinking back on her mother: the mistress, the wannabe-witch, the dead. But this pendant carried with it some significance, and at Arthur's request she'd desperately tried to get to the bottom of it.

Eventually Arthur put his hand over Morgana's. "It's no use. You did your best, but I doubt she ever told you. We're just trying to make sense of a crazy person's theories, here: it doesn't really matter, in the grand scheme of things. It's about time you headed off to bed."

His half-sister wouldn't be herself if she didn't try to dissuade Arthur from seeing her off to her room.

"Change of subject, then. Soooo... How's _Merlin_?"

Arthur's jaw twitched. "Merlin is no longer of any concern to us."

It would've been lovely if once, just once, Morgana agreed to let things go. But that wasn't the Morgana way of doing things.

"What did you do?"

Arthur shrugged her claw off of his elbow and continued to steer his clearly sleep-deprived and delusional sister towards her bedroom.

"I didn't _do_ anything. Why is everything always on me? Who's to say _he_ didn't fuck things up?"

Morgana simply repeated herself. " _What. Did. You. Do?_ "

Arthur groaned, from the bottom of his heart. "He used Dad's death as an excuse to get into the building, and pardon the fuck out of me if I don't take the death of a beloved patriarch as something to joke about."

They'd made it to Morgana's bedroom, but the stubborn young woman made no attempt to get into bed. "Arthur, you didn't..."

Arthur raised his chin and gave his sister the defiant Pendragon glare. "So what if I did?"

"Because he wasn't a beloved patriarch?! Christ, Arthur, I thought we were done with this the moment you got back from St. Holiest Of Thoueth, Arsefuck USA. Uther was human garbage wrapped inside an anglo-appropriate sack of _more garbage_ , brother mine. He thought the worst of us, and still you think the world of him?!"

"I know he was a shit!" Arthur burst out, and he was as shocked as Morgana was.

"He was, Morgana. He was a terrible man who had no regards for our personal feelings. We were child soldiers to him, nothing more. And even our best would've meant fuck all to him. I know that. I really do... _I know that_ , Gana..."

Morgana's face was awash with tears in the face of her brother's outburst, and Arthur realised that in all their years together, he'd never told her how terrible Uther was. He'd left that to Morgana, finding strength in words he couldn't speak. He had to tear his eyes away before he followed his sister down that road of eternal weepery.

"So why..." Morgana whispered, determined to keep a straight face in spite of the tears cascading down her face. "Why did you toss Merlin aside the way you did? I told you he was good for you. And him recognising Uther for the brutal dictator he was just seems like further confirmation to me."

Arthur furiously wiped away a tear. " _Because_ , Morgana. He's not a Pendragon. He doesn't get to talk like that."

Morgana smiled so wryly it threatened to break Arthur's heart, or whatever was left of it.

"Guess that's the one difference between you and I, little bro: I never gave a shit who else hates Uther Pendragon as much as I do."

***

In his stubborn refusal to acknowledge Merlin nor Morgana, Arthur got a ton of work done, which was the only good thing. And in all his desperation, he clung to that.

He'd typed up the Gaius v. Valiant tapes, and notified his team of the characteristics they should be looking for: relatively broad and muscular, weakened with age, long-haired, power hungry, initials 'A.D.'

The only person currently in his corner - much of it of Arthur's own doing, but sod it if he acknowledged his role in this clusterfuck - was Leon, the station's eyes and ears, even if he was still technically glued to Morgana's side.

It was Leon whom Arthur got in touch with after locating a trailer in West-Camelot registered to a man who went by the name of Aristotle D'Amour, which may as well have read 'Fakey D'Anonymous', as far as Arthur was concerned.

The premises had long been vacated, but they were getting there.

They were so close to nailing this prick, Arthur's fingertips were buzzing with excitement.

***

Arthur was fast asleep in one of Morgana's comfy living-room chairs when his body straightened and he awoke from a particularly unpleasant dream.

"MORGANA!" he tried to roar, before realising how hard it was for him to sit up, let alone speak.

His hands and elbows had been strapped down with useless pieces of cable. His once-booming voice had been reduced to nothing.

"'m sorry, Gana," mumbled Arthur from his duct-taped mouth once he realised he'd no way of cutting through the cables separating him from his sister.

Morgana was fast asleep - _Oh God, let her be asleep, nothing more_ \- and Arthur's vision started blurring again.

A man was working on his sister's restraints and Arthur knew he needed to get up and tear the piece of shit apart. But he was so dizzy. His head hurt too much. _Just a quick nap, just for now, and all of this will be a dream..._

***

Arthur supposed he'd died and gone straight to Hell.

For one thing, there were flashing lights all around, and for another: Morgana and Merlin were nowhere to be seen, and Arthur knew Heaven would be full of them.

Instead, all he saw was his father.

Uther Pendragon hovered over his son. "I knew you didn't have the guts..."

To his own surprise, Arthur just smiled up into his father's face. "But I do, father... I fucking well do."

***

Arthur slept through the following week like nothing had happened.

For Arthur, things may as well not have. His closest memory at hand was Morgana, in the process of being tied to a chair, then hearing Leon as well as Merlin whispering words of encouragement into his ear. And even that was something he couldn't be sure had actually taken place. For all he knew this had been a fever dream and he was in hospital for some kind of dreadful illness.

He was definitely in a hospital room, that much he knew.

The nice people of Camelot Hospital insisted on keeping Arthur isolated, for the time being, but he recognised a couple of the staff and they recognised him, if the friendly but painful pats to his bruised shoulders and the 'get well soon, Detective's were anything to go by.

"Our dad's a shit, Gana, yeah he is," he murmured into one of his pillows, before the nurse tending to him upped his dosage of morphine and he blissfully returned to the land of dreams and zero pain.

***

Arthur managed to pry the full story out of Leon, who had no business looking so fucking sad and ashamed when he'd saved both his crush and his co-worker from certain death.

Leon managed to relay the basics to Arthur, who was still struggling to make sense of waking up alive and well in hospital, let alone surviving a night with a confirmed murderer.

Truth be told, he hated himself a bit for not being awake for most of it: he was a detective inspector, for Christ's sake, he should have been able to take a massive blow to the head and work through the pain. Leon, well aware of Arthur's pride, had held up a mirror and given Arthur a good look at his horrendously bruised face before Arthur sighed in resignation and told the other man to get on with it.

Somehow, the knowing was actually worse than ignorance. Turned out the person attempting to destroy Morgana's life had been a man by the name of Agravaine duBois, which only served to anger Arthur further.

Agravaine was Arthur's uncle. His late mum's brother. He'd never met the man in his life (seemed he was the one person Uther banned from the house with noble intentions), but his name was in all of his mum's childhood picture books. No matter how much the man had changed over the years, Arthur should've _known_. 

From what Leon told him, Agravaine had never been much of a winner: he always tended to blame others for his own misfortunes. Parents, teachers, even the family pets. He had no registered mental illnesses: he was just a very bitter and delusional person, not unlike Uther himself, Arthur thought ironically.

Other than his beloved sister, who eventually felt stifled by the pedestal he'd put her on and tried to distance herself from him, Agravaine considered the whole world his enemy. He'd been an obsessive, right until the very end.

Despite neither of them being in touch with each other, Igraine's death had caused him to spiral something deep. Instead of acknowledging the fact that his estranged sister's pregnancy had put her at a severe risk, which was very sad but very real, Agravaine honed in on the necklace she'd been wearing at the time of her pregnancy.

In fact, the necklace had been a gift from Uther, who'd gotten the name of the jeweler from Morgana's mum of all people, in a truly revolting turn that made Arthur want to throw things.

The pendant meant nothing at all; just some lady's obsession with jewelry and witchcraft, but Agravaine latched onto it with fury, determined to wipe out every woman who wore the piece and _lived_ , unlike his beloved Igraine.

All that effort, for a sister who'd been done with her brother's obsessive ways a long time ago.

After committing the four other murders, Agravaine had been laying in wait. Without Valiant as a partner, he was vulnerable, and that vulnerability had only served to piss him off more.

He took advantage of the fact that he was kind-faced and past the age of truly threatening and presented himself as a door-to-door salesman to an unsuspecting Morgana, who dealt with these types all the time and stubbornly insisted on arguing with each and every one of them, whether she meant to buy from them or not. He'd even brought a fucking hoover as a prop.

Arthur was furious with himself for committing the mortal sin of falling asleep in front of the fireplace. And for not trying harder to dissuade Morgana from being the argumentative prick she was (whenever he tried, she'd only argue).

This worthless prick had knocked out his sister with a government issued baton of all things, then did the same to Arthur before he had the chance to wake up. And the only reason he'd lived to tell the tale was because Agravaine had been so utterly _delighted_ to be torturing his own relatives.

The sick _fuck_.

Really, though, he had Leon and Merlin to thank.

Leon had been lurking outside the house in hopes that his departure would embolden the killer ( _man, did it ever_ , thought Arthur). He didn't much like the look of the salesman, especially once he'd recognised the man's hoover as an older model.

Scratch that: it had been Leon's utter nerdery that saved Arthur and Morgana.

Merlin, meanwhile, had been pacing for a while, hoping to apologise to Arthur and check in on Morgana's wellbeing. _And bless his big heart_ , Arthur thought: if it weren't for the latter, Merlin probably wouldn't have come at all, unwilling to risk Arthur's wrath in case he was still angry. The lure of a nice lady in danger was enough to make him go down there.

When the salesman talking to Morgana pulled a baton from his briefcase and knocked her out cold before quickly dragging her limp body inside, both Leon and Merlin were there to see it.

The two men met by accident in the middle of the street, before deciding on a game plan. Merlin may not have been on the force, but according to Leon, he'd certainly looked murderous enough to risk letting him take the back of the house while Leon scanned the front.

They allowed for Agravaine to tie up Arthur and Morgana, in hopes that he would tire himself out and let his guard down. But if ever he got ready to strike, so were Leon and Merlin.

As Leon neared the end of his recollection, the story took an interesting turn:

It had in fact been neither Leon nor Merlin who saved the day.

It was Morgana who put Agravaine in his place. She'd woken up while he was tying her feet, and instantly she'd lunged forward and sunk her teeth into his neck as best she could.

Leon and Merlin simply took advantage of the fact that their target was distracted, bleeding and screaming in order to take him down and cuff him.

Arthur didn't realise he was crying until Leon awkwardly handed him a tissue and said, "Budge up, mate. You're alive and well. Just a bit uglier, but it'll pass."

 _His sister. His beautiful fucking terror of a sister._ Arthur had never loved anyone more.

***

Morgana was the first to visit Arthur, in the middle of the night, having snuck from her hospital room against the advice of her doctors. She wouldn't have it any other way, Arthur knew.

She sat on the edge of his bed, face bathed in moonlight, and the bruises were evident. "Mind if I join you, little bro?"

Arthur scooched over, ignoring the pain currently setting fire to his body, and made room for his little sister. They lay side by side, just as they had when they were 10. It should've been weird, but instead it was comforting.

Morgana stroked his hair, careful to avoid the bruises. "I'm so glad we're here and not in a gutter somewhere, feeding the local fly population."

Her bedside manner could truly use some work, but Arthur grinned.

"Hear you went full Hannibal, there. I'm sorry I missed it." 

What he meant to say was "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you", but Morgana read him as usual and rolled her eyes.

"You never could accept the fact that I'm the hero in this relationship, could you? Right from the very moment I beat you at fencing."

"You didn't beat me, stop making things up."

"No, you're right, I didn't. I fucking _slayed you_ , little brother, and don't you forget."

Arthur grumbled into his sister's hair, lulled by her quiet tones. "I'm older than you, why do you always forget?"

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Morgana pressing a kiss to his forehead and mumbling, "I never forgot: just think it's important to put you in your place."

***

When he next woke up, it was to see the Gaius's severe face peering down at him.

"Christ, did I die? I always knew you'd be the one to ship me off to the afterlife, but _did you die_?"

Morphine was great, until it wasn't.

Gaius finally relaxed and chuckled. "Looks like you're doing okay from here, boy. That was a terrifying thing, what happened."

Arthur had known Gaius to say "That was a stupid thing you did" on a regular basis, and of all things, this unfamiliar reaction was what finally snapped him out of the mindset of blaming himself for not being conscious during Agravaine's reign of terror.

Gaius held up a stuffed animal, a little plush seal. "I remember you used to like these."

At that, Arthur had to struggle to keep from crying so embarrassingly soon after the last time. Gaius had been a family friend long before Arthur thought of him as his boss, and the reminder was almost too much to bear in the face of all that had happened.

He clutched the seal to his chest and smiled. "Thanks... _Sir_."

Next up was Merlin.

He'd been hovering for a bit before Arthur lost patience and growled "Come in, idiot."

Merlin sat down in the chair next to the bed and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I wanted to visit you when you stopped blaming yourself for not saving the universe, but I didn't know when that would be, so-"

Arthur reached out and pulled Merlin's face towards his own bruised one and kissed him firmly, but tenderly.

When Merlin eventually pulled back, Arthur was getting ready to cry again. From laughter, this time.

Merlin was so flustered his lips were moving and his arms were gesturing and nothing came out.

"I could've shut you up so long ago, and I never knew..."

Just like that, Merlin was back to reality.

"That's what happens when you kiss people out of nowhere, you knob. Wasn't anything to do with you, personally," he grumbled indignantly.

"So you don't want me to try that again, then?" Arthur teased, grin wide and painful, but worth it just for Merlin's brief look of affection.

"Well, never say never. But maybe not just now: I liked pretty Arthur, not sure how I feel about the bruise formerly known as Arthur. You look like a Rising Sun patron, mate."

Arthur reached out to ruffle Merlin's hair. "Thank you for being there. Y'know, when shit went down."

Merlin looked down, abashed. "Was only there by chance, mate. I'd have kneecapped the bastard had I known beforehand."

He looked back into Arthur's eyes with a cheeky glint. "Thank your sister for making a meal of him. Craziest thing I ever saw."

Arthur threw his head back and laughed.

"She's going to get so many muzzles for Christmas, I can't wait."

***

After a week of intrusive tests to make sure his concussion had lessened, Arthur was free to go home.

He was also removed from the case, since he'd technically been involved for some part of it.

He wasn't sure how to feel about that yet. He'd be called forth as a witness, but he enjoyed reading bad men their rights and scaring them into finally confessing. It was in his blood.

Whatever one did with three weeks' leave, Arthur had no idea: he'd never tried.

His first instinct was to go by the Rising Sun and visit Freya. He shouldn't have bothered, because as Gwaine gleefully informed him, the young woman was out and about, enjoying the mild afternoon sunlight.

"Looks like you could use a bit of that yourself, mate. Get some colour in those cheeks to offset those hideous bruises. Man, but Merlin did tell me you were ugly now and he wanted nothing more to do with you..."

Arthur went back to his flat, though not before shoving Gwaine into a table set.

***

Arthur was settled on the couch, watching TV and snuggling with Atticus, when the doorbell rang.

Merlin was there, a big grin on his face. "Look at you, the Elephant Man element has all but left your face!"

"Piss off and feed my dog, will you?"

"Can't do both!" Merlin sing-songed before diving into Arthur's fridge and tossing Atticus a couple of bacon strips.

"I was thinking about dog food, _Mer_ lin, but by all means, feed him my breakfast."

"Oh, shut up," said Merlin in the middle of hugging Atticus, sticking the poor old canine with the dilemma of food and hugs. "You have all the good jams, Arthur, I told you that. Beats bacon any day of the week."

"You'd pick jam over bacon? I always suspected you were unhinged, but that settles it."

Merlin made his way over to the couch and settled in snugly besides Arthur, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"So how've you been holding up, then, soldier? And I mean _really_."

Arthur shrugged. "Dunno. Glad to be alive, pissed to have missed the ending. Happy to have my sister safe and sound, mad I don't get to nail the bastard. Plus I can't help but think it's all on me. I mean, he's my goddamn uncle..."

Merlin just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and he was your mum's brother. Are you also blaming your poor dead mum? You that much of a dick? Huh?"

He poked at Arthur's side before Arthur relented and slumped against Merlin, face pressed into his neck. "'spose not."

Merlin carded his fingers through Arthur's hair. "Well, there you have it. None of it's on you, or your mum, or anyone but those two bastards who targeted ladies for their fucking _pendants_. You can't argue with crazy, Arthur, you'll never win."

Arthur just hummed his agreement, settling in close to Merlin.

"I do honestly think there might be a curse on your family, though. Look at it from my perspective: your dad was a corrupt copper, your uncle's a psycho, and your sister's a cannibal. Anything you'd like to tell me about yourself before I make myself comfortable here?"

Groaning deeply, forgetting why he loved this idiot at all but realising he did, very much so, Arthur leaned up to kiss Merlin before resting their foreheads together.

"Just that I'd like you to stay with me and settle in and eat all my good fucking jams and support me through the trial. All this," he pressed another kiss to Merlin's lips. "Without bitching about your inability to pay rent."

Merlin thought about that for a while, before nodding. "Alright. But I'm only doing this for Atticus. He's still beautiful, whereas you... You'll do, at least until the bruising goes down and you're back to your ugliest old self."

Arthur saw no need to argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'dassall, folks.
> 
> Sorry for pulling a 'Merlin (TV Show)' on you and making Arthur pass out during the action, but I can never resist a Morgana redemption tale...


End file.
